Colours in the Dark
by TheatrexGeek
Summary: Day in and day out it had been drilled into my life, that nobody was special, nobody lived a life that wasn't just black and white. And for a while I believed it,and coming from an artist that's slightly embarrassing, until someone decided to spill color all over my achromatic picture of life, teaching me that special people did exist and I was one of them. Sherlock x OC x Moriarty
1. Chapter 1

Being special is an ideal created to delude the mind from reality, at least that's what I was told for years until one man, one _very _different man convinced me otherwise. It was December in New York I was positive my feet were going to get but I could care less as I stood on the sidewalk. In simple tan cargo pants and a black undershirt,people normally would call me crazy for dressing in such a way but I suppose they were too focused on the way I danced around, the color on the end of my pointed tipped brush, the smallest weapon of my arsenal, great for detailing. As I brought a rather sad looking wall to life with a beautiful picture of a side portrait of a young blue eyed, white skinned, woman with rainbow hair that flowed to the side as she made a kissy face.  
"Wow look at it..."  
"I know...!"  
The whispers brought a small smile to my face as I finished, stepping back to admire my work. A small clap caught my attention to see a man rather short probably only 5'8" with smooth black hair and dark brown eyes that held a small unidentifiable look. It made me rather cautious but curious as well as if I knew I should be afraid of him yet oddly it made me simply want to know more; what could I say curiosity was my fatal flaw. The man stopped beside me; the crowd had moved on the chill finally getting to them. Even the small beads of sweat on the back of my neck froze a bit as a breeze blew by.  
"Its outstanding." The man smiled at the painting.  
"Thank you." I replied happy that he liked it so.  
"Do you get paid for this?"  
"Sometimes but Idon't paint murals for the money I do it because I love them."

It was the whole reason I do anything because I love it, if I didn't love painting I wouldn't do it. Quickly I picked up all my brushes and paint, gotta hurry to go wash them before they dry and get ruined.  
"You're something special."  
I looked up to see the man staring at me with a glint in his eyes. A dangerous kind, as if this was all a game, a fun enjoyable game of chess and I were his opponent.

He had called me _that _word. The ideal word. Special, the word made me scoff a bit. Pish posh.  
"Pah. I don't believe in special people."  
"You should they exist and your one of them."  
"What are they some 'special' club?" I laughed a bit to myself, picturing them sitting down at a 'specail' table, talking about 'special' things while eating 'special' cookies hahaa! What a ridiculous thought! Special people. Please. There was no such thing as specialness, people were just people nothing more nothing less. It was a boring thought that had been driven into my life at a young age.  
"Really just think about it darling. People live on and on, doing nothing. They have the same cycle every day, it's as they're color blind only ever seeing one shade forever. They get up, go places, and go to sleep. It's _boring _and sooo _obvious_. But _you _kitten you'respecial. You don't see the world in grays you see it in color, even if you were sent to that silly boarding school to be taught that the world was one shade, you use to be so drab, but when Mrs. Adler taught you about painting and you fell in love with art, why? Well for the fact that it adds color to your boring life because you hate being bored don't you? So you distract yourself with painting, you would do anything not to be bored."  
I narrowed my eyes, who was this man and how did he know about Mrs. Adler?  
Were many would run away screaming **"**stalker" I stood where I was eyeing the man careful, well,because he was right and I couldn't deny what was right even if it was hard to hear. I couldn't lie to myself like that the rest of the world did, invisible ribbon of lies wrapped around the globe like a nice little bow.  
The smile on the man's lips grew into a wild grin, "See, I'm right aren't I?" He sung like a bird, "You're not running away like NORMAL people would. You want to hear more don't you? My aren't you a curious kitten."


	2. Chapter 2

~~~Five months later~~~  
Another city, another mural but at least this one was interesting. London was packed to the brim, the whole skinny side walk was full of passersby's; I worked around them to create a 3D like archway that supposedly led inside to Buckingham palace itself. I was asked to create this in place of the artist that couldn't do it. I heard that he had done such a bad job on the last one they actually cut his head off! When the secretary told me that story I wasn't sure whether or not she was joking. It was painted on the side of the Royal Bank as advertisement that would read ,"We will treat you as if you're the queen herself!"

Cheesy, but the bank owner went crazy for it. He told me he was surprised I was so bright for an American girl that's when I almost punched him for that but remembered I was being paid for this so I held off. British people, I learned, could be so RUDE! Adding a few extra details I finished and stepped back so I could take a look make sure I had everything correct but it was so tall I had to take a few extra steps back to see the entire thing! That's when I heard the horn. My head turned just in time to see a red double decker tour bus come right at me, my eyes widening in surprise and suddenly I couldn't move. So this was the way I was going to die; five years from now people will point at this street in front of the arch moral saying, "There is where that stupid American artist girl was killed by a tour bus in the attempt to see her own moral."  
What a way to go down in history.

My eyes closed and I waited from the impact of the bus, the pain of shattering bones, and if I was lucky a quick snap of the neck to send me away fast. Though I probably won't the vehicle was only going 45 miles per hour, enough to kill me but not snap a neck. Except I didn't get the impact I was expecting, instead two hands coiled around my waist and I was jerked to the side to land on the concrete and hit my head. Groggily I opened my eyes to see intense blue orbs staring back. Woh. They were the most beautiful shade of blue I had ever seen; they were steely gray-blue but in natural light they shimmered blue with flecks of greenish gold. WOW. I wish there was a paint color for these, I would never use anything but it if I could; but then I would get bored of it so maybe I would just use the shade on the most important of artworks.

"Hello? I asked if you were alright."

I blinked out of my trance realizing I was being spoken to, "Huh? Oh uh yeah I-I think I am."

Those orbs looked me over a bit before pulling me to my feet, "No you're not you're bleeding."

"Wha-?" then I felt it the throb in my head from where I hit it. Owwww.

The man took a hold of one of my wrist before dragging me down the street calling for a taxi, "Wait, where are you taking me!" I hollered pressing a hand to my wound as I tried to stay on my feet as nausea hit my stomach and black dots danced around like fairies in my eyes.

"To see a doctor." The statement came out of him like it was obvious and it annoyed him, as if I had just asked a ridiculous question like why the sky was blue.

"I don't even know you!" I half whined half yelled as a taxi pulled up beside us.

He opened the door, "I'm Sherlock Holmes. You know me, now get in."

With that he pushed me in the taxi and climbed in himself,"221B Baker Street and be quick about it." My savoir or abductor I wasn't sure yet said before pulling out his pone to text someone.

The whole ride I kept to myself and it was obvious the man preferred it that way because he spent no energy trying to communicate either**. **Why did this have to happen to me? Why was it always me?! I had moved to London after receiving the job offer to only be here a few hours and already I was nearly getting run over and being brought to a doctor by this so called Sherlock Holmes, he could be a rapist for all I know! Though he didn't really strike me as one, no he reminded me more of that other man even if they didn't look or even act the same something about him reminded me. Perhaps it was the fact that I was comfortable around him like the other man even when we first met I didn't feel awkward at all. I just felt myself, I mean that's all I ever need to be; the unsociable, creative, sarcastic me. Besides not many people actually like me to begin with, they have to be very special people...maybe...was Sherlock "special" too?  
I snuck a peek at the man beside me; he too was staring out of his window like me just a few seconds ago. In the windows reflection his eyes were far off and was he thinking? Mirrored blue eyes flashed to meet mine in the reflection and I quickly turned back to my own window a small blush on my cheek. I hope he doesn't think too much into that. It's not as if I liked him,oh gosh, I hope he doesn't think I do. That would be weird. The taxi passed a bank and suddenly I remembered my luggage and my paint brushes! I gave a small groan then leaned the side of my head against the cool glass thinking about all the things I would have to do tomorrow like get my luggage and check from the bank tomorrow; it was stupid of me not to get a hotel first to put my luggage in. And I had to get new brushes because with my luck they would definitely be stolen. Not to mention find a place to stay because hopefully, I would spend more than just a few days in London this place, though crowded as it seems the ideas that came to me from looking at the buildings would make wonderful paintings, sculptures and models maybe even a few clothing designs for my more bored moments.

"Here." The voice of the taxi driver knocked me out of my thoughts.

When I looked over Sherlock was already outside holding the car door open for me, looking rather impatient. I scooted out only to trip on the curve and nearly face plant on the ground. Sherlock grabbed my arm to steady me before I could but the irritation on his face made me glare a bit, it's not my fault I'm clumsy and if he didn't like me why go through all this trouble to help me in the first place! Sherlock ripped open an apartment door with gold numbers and a letter that said 221B and went inside leaving me on the street. So I either follow the man I just met into an old apartment building or walk away. Ehhhh, on my judgment meter the old apartment sounded better, like I said curiosity was my flaw besides my head was killing me. When I opened the door I was met with a voice that sounded like Sherlock yelling, "JOHNNNN!" up the small, tight british stairs to an open door. By the time I got up there and stood in the doorway a kinda short,kinda tall man with light, light brown hair was yawning and looking rather peeved at the much taller Sherlock in front of him, "Sherlock what the bloody hell is your problem!" The man had his back to me so when Sherlock pointed in my direction the man turned around with a half open mouth and quickly shut it.

"Oh uh hello." The man stammered.

I waved a bit still standing in the door way.

"Sorry uh,did you hear all that?"

I nodded.

"Oh, uh. Hmm. Sorry about that Sherlock can be an arse sometimes I was just sleeping and well ah. I'm sorry let me start over I'm John Watson would you like some tea?"

"The woman doesn't need tea John. She needs help." Sherlock rolled his eyes from the couch he was laying on now.

"What's the matter?" John asked a worried expression on his face as he sat down in a comfy looking green chair.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Isn't obvious John, she's hurt I brought her to be treated by a doctor."

"You're hurt?" John asked oblivious to how I was pressing my hand on the side of my head. Seriously, his a doctor?

"Open wound on the right side of her head, minor concussion." Sherlock answered for me staring at me from his place on the couch.

John scampered up and off, disappearing in the kitchen, "If you knew so much Sherlock why didn't you just help her yourself. Can't you bandage an injury."

"It's not useful information for me John and besides I already saved her life I didn't feel the need to address her wounds as well."  
The sound of something hitting wood and a quick ow came from the kitchen. John came out rubbing his head and holding a first aid kit to look at Sherlock in shock, "YOU?! You saved her life?!"

A smile flickered at the edge of Sherlock's mouth, "I just said that didn't I?"

John took a deep breath before turning to me, "Let's get you fixed up shall we?"

The bandages took no time at all with the skillful hands of Doctor John Watson.

"How long were you in the army?" I asked staring at the medals slightly hidden by the explosion of papers on the desk.

"Excuse me?"

"How long were you in the army."

"A few years but how did you know I was in the army?"

I pointed at the box of medals, John followed and made a little "ah". I stayed quiet just looking at everything in the room and when my eyes landed on the skull, I frowned a bit. That was a REAL human skull. I mean I was pretty sure it was I had taken anatomy for a few years so I would hope that I knew if a skull was or was not real.

"If you don't mind me asking but I don't think I caught your name." John asked sitting down beside me after he finished the bandaging.

"Oh I guess not I'm Scarletta. Scarletta Rosewen. My friends call me Scarlet"

We shook hands, surprisingly I found that Johns hands weren't rough at all like many normal solider boys, I guess that explains why he was a doctor. There was a knock on the door before an elderly lady walked in the room holding a plate of muffins with a smile, she seemed familiar...  
"Look boys I-" The woman went silent when she saw me.

I smiled a bit realizing why she looked so familiar, "Hey Mrs. Hudson."

"Scarlet dear? Is that you? My I haven't seen you in ages!" She smiled even wider handing the platter to a surprised John and pulled me into a tight hug.

"Oof. Hahah it's good to see you too Mrs. Hudson." I laughed.

John gaped a bit, "How-how do you know Mrs. Hudson?!"

Mrs. Hudson let me go, "Scarlet was good friends with my granddaughter back in college she helped me design the place, Scarlet's such a sweet dear. Much better than my own granddaughter."

I smiled brightly at the compliment.

"But what are you doing in London dear?" Mrs. H asked.

"Work." I answered shortly.

"Well where are you staying?"

I rubbed the back of my head, "Um,probably under a bridge I don't really have any place to stay."

Mrs. H looked astonished then she patted my knee, "You'll just have to stay here then."

"Really? I don't want to-"

"No I insist and if you can't pay rent you'll just have to paint me some paintings." Mrs. H responded firmly.

I couldn't help but smile, it really is a small world after all maybe my luck is starting to pay off, "Thank you but all of my stuff if back at the bank and I-I"

BUZZZ!

The button rang, I looked at Mrs. Hudson. Who could that be?

"I'll get it." Sherlock said standing and walking down the stairs. Everyone could hear as the door opened a rather Hispanic voice spoke, "You asked me to bring this by Sherlock?"

"Yes thank you."

"Anything for you my friend."

The door was shut again and up the stairs Sherlock walked with my abstract painting of a tree by Modart and my brushes.

"I believe these are yours." Sherlock stated before setting them down and going back to your seat. I stared at them a bit before looking up at Sherlock who was watching me.

"How did you know I was going to be staying?"

The smile that grew on his face that caught my breath,it was the gleam that entered his eyes. It was just like **_that _**mans.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: So real quick I don't want to confuse anyone with a comment stated later on in the chapter but John is about 36, Sherlock is 30 and Scarlet is 28 okay anyways! Enjoy! And pleasssseeee comment! I would love to hear what everyone thinks about the story!**

~~~1 month later~~~

The past month had been the most interesting of my life. Within it I learned that Sherlock was a consulting detective, a job he made up himself; I was nearly killed once when a guy dressed in desert robes and samurai sword came to attack Sherlock and I while John was at the grocery store, and I met, according to Sherlock, the most dangerous man on this planet, his brother Mycroft. It was apparent to me that Sherlock, or Sherly as I called him now to piss him off, did not know the people I knew.

"Morning Sherly!" I said cheerfully, flopping down on the couch, while Sherlock was across the room in his red chair where he goes to think about things. I have noticed that where Sherlock sits is dependent on his thinking level. If it were just thinking he would sit in the red chair, green on very rare occasion when the red was taken, when he would lay on the couch it was a much deeper train of thought; he wouldn't notice anyone in the room. The deepest I had seen him in was when he was playing his violin over by the window a little behind the couch; those were the times Sherlock would just play for hours not noticing a single thing in the world, days could go by and he wouldn't know. I could probably be shot in this very room and it would not even cross his mind. I hated it when Sherly was in one of those moods, it made me worry and I hated worrying, it was too negative and it made my mind distance, far from the happy tracksI tried to keep it on.

Oh if looks could kill I would have died twice from the one Sherlock was giving me.

"What's wrong SHeRRlyyYYYy?" I teased coming over to sit on my knees and rest my chin on the armrest of the red chair he was currently sitting in.

Those blue orbs stared down at my innocent face, his large pale lips not moving a single bit. Oh yeah, something else I learned was how truly handsome Sherlock was. Normal girls would findhis looks to be very intimidating, trust me I know this, I had seen how woman react to him as he briskly walked down a side walk, how twitterpated they would get, that is until he opened his mouth and it all disappeared for them. I found a sick sort of enjoyment of it all because luckily for me I was not a normal woman.

The way Sherlock looked could be described no better than a marbled statute created by God himself, carved by the most talented of sculptures. The way his black hair curled in a rather daunting way, the long look of his face and his high cheek bones with pale full lips all slicked over with marble white baby smooth skin. It was a face all great artists envied and admired mainly because it was one never to be captured on canvas and rarely in stone, especially those eyes. I gave an inward sigh of contentment; I could stay lost in them forever. Now don't think I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes because that would be a farce,I simply admired him the way Leonardo did with woman, like a muse.

"Don't you have work to be doing?" Sherlock asked in an annoyed tone, I've learned that's just the way Sherlock speaks to me, as if there was always something wrong with me. I didn't know why he treated me like that and considering it is Sherlock I probably never will. Don't get me wrong though there are those very, very, very rare, almost nonexistent, moments when he's kind to me.

I scoffed while standing up, "Don't you have a case?"

I swear for a second I thought I had seen a smile flicker on his lips but I was probably just imagining things like I always do, every now and then I'd have a moment when I felt as if someone was staring at me,every now and again when I was around the two men Sherlock and John but when I would look up neither of the boys were even looking my way; or I'd experience things like this instant when Sherlock seem to smile at me, as if he enjoyed me being around. Hahaha! Sherlock actually like MY company? That was probably the best joke I've ever told myself. I knew Sherlock didn't mind me; he let me be around him often enough but to actually enjoy my company, I think that was pushing ittoo far. My night robe that was flowing free around me and my pajamas swished quietly as I made my way to the kitchen but not before taking in every inch of the room behind me in the second it took to turn around. I sulked; the living room was a disaster.

"I see you boys did a wonderful job of making a mess of the flat I cleaned." I grumbled.

"I'll have my usual, thank you."

Silently I cursed Sherlock as I brewed the morning coffee for him it seemed to have become a normal habit, making him coffee in the morning after I woke up and came down to the boys flat. When Sherlock questioned why I was around so often, I told him I would rather be with company. The more often I came down to the boys flat the moreI noticed things. Sherlock's' unique love of dead things, like the severed head I found in the fridge or hand in the microwave, I had taken the liberty of cleaning it unbeknownst to Sherlock of course; John knew all about it and agreed with me, I made sure to have someone to back me up for cleaning the flat before I did. I knew Sherlock liked to be a picky on where he placed his things and would throw a childish temper-tantrum if someone moved his stuff. It was amazing what I uncovered after reorganizing everything, I found that the flat was a rather quaint little room. With a cozy walk in living room, a sweet-looking rug on the floor and de fleur wallpaper made of red and cream, with a couch and long coffee table against it. A green chair faced away from the windows and turned towards the door while the red one turned to look back at the green. A work table was rested against the back wall in between the side windows and a fireplace sat in the left wall as you walked in, a dusty TV sat next to it in a small cubby**. **The living room connected to the small, yet complete kitchen made of white and faded blue colors. From there and to the left led to the hall of the bathroom, John's and Sherlock's rooms separate of course. I knew that they weren't gay, I mean I had met gay people before they definitely did not act like them but John still felt the need to clarify that they weren't for some reason. I had to admit the flat has grown on me, I swore that the day either of them died I would take who's ever room.

Sad to say though my cleaning efforts didn't last long, the Sherlock hurricane blew through only hours later. It was now a war between me and that pack rat Sherlock, so far he was winning. I would clean only to come back to find everything back to chaos. At one point I went as far as to stuff everything that could cause a mess into a closet and triple locked it with three separate locks, when I came for dinner everything was back in chaos. The feud started when Sherlock yelled at me for ruining his "organization", yet he's always complaining he can't find his socks. I yelled back that being _really _clean would help his problem but he refused to believe me, saying that his way was much better; in the end we made a bet that whoever who could keep up the longest, me with the neatness and Sherlock with his messiness,whoever lost will have to do whatever the other person wants for a whole day no matter how ridiculous. Yes, it was a steep price but you're talking about two very stubborn people and two people who always have to be right; we would go to the ends of the earth just to be correct.

The smell of coffee wafted in my nose, yummy, I loved the smell hated the taste, strange I know but I was addicted to my hot coco I didn't drink any other hot beverage, though I had slowly grown a love for tea now, especially Mrs. Hudson's jasmine tea, mmmm.

"Done." I said handing Sherlock the coffee, he took a sip before setting it on the armrest and went back to thinking. I sighed; Sherlock was in his thinking mood again, he won't be any fun today, as usual. I settled to sit down on the couch and started drawing in my sketch book that I had grabbed from my flat when I had down. My pencil moved across the paper by itself, I wasn't even sure what I was drawing yet. A rumble came from my pocket, without even setting down my pencil I switched hands to fish out my phone with my free right hand, still doodling with my left, ah, the perks of being ambidextrous.

The text was from John, "Lunch today?"

"Sounds great! The normal?" I replied.

"Sure!" Was the text I received back, a small smile reached my lips. having lunch with John during his lunch breaks was a habit I was growing use to. John had become a good friend, I guess it helped that he reminded me of my father though.

"Going to lunch with John again I see." Sherlock said. I looked up to meet a stone cold face and intense blue eyes.

I smirked a bit, "Geez don't let the jealousy kill you," Sherlock snorted a bit at my comment before I added, "You know you could come, we'd both love your company."

Sherlock just closed his eyes resting his head on the back of the chair, "No I don't think so."

I cocked my head confused slightly, "About which one? The company or coming to lunch?"

"Yes." Was Sherlock's only response.

I stared a bit longer to see if he would say anything else but he didn't so I just shook my head standing with a sigh, "Whatever Sherly."

In regard to the name I had a pillow chucked at the wall beside me, "Hey I just cleaned this place!" I yelled back at Sherlock who was smiling then looking at a spot at a spot by the floor, I looked to see a pair of dirty clothes scattered everywhere too, "And for heaven's sake Sherlock Holmes pick up your own clothes!"

"Yes mother."

I rudely stuck my tongue out like a child before running up to my own flat to change. When I finished I came running back down then pausing as I saw as I saw Sherlock's door open and him flipping through something on the couch...my sketch book.

"SHERLOCK THAT'S MY SKETCH BOOK!"

"I know, no need to shout out the obvious." He answered still flipping through it, he paused on page…**,**, "Is this me?"

"SHERLOCK!" I fumed stomping to grab it only to have Sherlock move it out of my grasp, "I wasn't finished." Sherlock stated looking back through it.

Red buds of embarrassment and anger spread along my cheeks as I growled, "Give. Me. My. Sketchbook. Back. Now."

Sherlock's blue eyes peeked up from the rim of my sketch book full of childish mischief. I can only imagine what was going through his head...actually I couldn't but whatever, he still had my sketch book and I still wanted it back.

I felt like an angry mama bear at this point, "Sherlock giveme the hell back my book."

Sherlock just flipped another page, not paying attention to me. At least that's what I thought until I tried to snatch at it and Sherlock yanked it away. I went at it again and he simple stood up and hovered it above my head. I tried to grab it and Sherlock dangled it right above my height range. Stupid Sherlock and his stupidly long legs.

"Sherlock so help me-" I didn't have time to finish as my foot caught on the rug while I was stepping forward I sending me tumbling into Sherlock who looked just as surprised, both of us crashed onto the couch. My whole body froze for a second as I looked down into blue orbs that stared up at me in the same amount of surprise as I felt**. **If anyone where to walk in right now...with Sherlock and I in this position...they would think that we...a blush rose to my cheeks as creative images came into my head and for a second a sudden urge came in me; feelings I hadn't felt in a long time, when I just wanted so bad as to press my lips against another person. For a second I held my head suspended in the air fighting the urge, the thought seemed so appealing right now to press lips to lips, tangle my fingers up in his dark locks, a few minutes of heaven on earth. Then in the side of my vision I saw my real objective, my sketch book! In Sherlock's momentary daze I snatched it from him and leaped off of him with a smile, "Later Sherly!" I sang leaving the man in my dust, but if I had stayed long enough or even turned around I would have saw the honeysuckle of love bloom on his cheeks, the dilation in Sherlock's eyes or even the smile that cracked on his lips.

"How do you like London?" John asked after we placed our orders at the normal diner just outside of the doctor's office that John was previously working at, he was currently on his lunch break and as usual spending it with me. It was quiet diner, sweet and simple with a bar, and booths seated next to the long windows that let you look at the people walking around on the sidewalk.

I smiled, "Almost as much as you like that Sarah chick."

For a second Johns eyes seem to panic a bit, "Well it's not as if I like her-I mean I fancy her and all-it's just I think I would like someone more like-" John cut his stammering short as his grey eyes nervously looking at me. Alright I was no Sherlock but something was definitely up.

"Like who?" I pressed.

John opened his mouth to answer then shut it to bite his lip a bit, his fingers tapping the table, a nervous tick, or so I've heard Sherlock mumble under his breath before when analyzing the dear doctor.

"Like London."

My face became to that of equal to a squirrel who can't find its nuts, "You want someone like London?"

"No-I mean-so you're liking London, that's good." John smiled.

"John stop your making a fool of yourself with your flustered infatuation." Replied a deep unforgettable baritone voice.

The shock look that explodedon John's face was directed to someone behind me, as I turned to look my face grew equal to John's**. **Sherlock had just waltzed in through the door that was behind me since our booth was sat next to the entrance. How had I or John not seen him or even heard the doorbell chime?! Geez I'd love to know where the detective got his ninja degree. Then again Sherlock probably didn't even need one, he'd just have to watch a ninja movie to become one.

John gaped a bit at Sherlock's comment, "Wh-what?"

Blue eyes rolled around in their sockets as Sherlock took a seat next to John, "You heard me, I asked you to stop looking like a smitten kitten. I wish to digest my food before it comes out of me, thank you." Sherlock turned to wave at the same blond haired waitress came over with a rather brighter smile than when she sat John and me down a few minutes ago.

"Order for me."

I turned my attention away from the waitress to see Sherlock staring at me, "What?"

"I swear are both of you going deaf? I said order for me."

"Why would I-no Sherlock!" I yelled slightly annoyed

The waitress, probably about 23,came and stood at our table with a smile, to shifted her weight in a rather flaunting manner and poise to seem sexy looking at Sherlock as much as she could with her positively toxic green eyes. Inside I scoffed a bit, no doubt in her mind she was thinking of ways on how to get off with him, sorry toots but Sherlock isn't your type and the man just proved me right by opening his mouth and saying, "The woman in front of me will order for me, she knows what I like."

The smile slid from the waitresses face as her perfect poise turned to a slouch, the look in her toxic pools was venomous as she looked at me,

I simply just smiled and said, "Tea with a sugar cookie, thanks."

The girl clicked her tongue, no doubt thinking something very rude before turning and walking to give the order to the kitchen window that was behind the bar. I looked back to my two guy friends with a smile, they were whispering to each other, well more like John trying to quietly yell at his friend as Sherlock just kept his eyes focused on me, he was smiling too but for a different reason than mine. Sherlock was entranced by his favorite game of 'how much can I piss off John today'.

"Well if it's any constellation for you John, she's too young for you anyways." Sherlock said not so quietly, breaking off Johns chastising.  
Wait who were they talking about?

"I thought Sarah was your same age John?" I asked the smaller man whose cheeks looked like a boutique of roses were growingon them.

"She is." Sherlock answered for John staring me deep in the eyes as if trying to uncover something or perhaps...tell me something; curiously I looked deeper into them trying to find the hidden message.

John coughed snapping me out of the trance, "I'm glad you're enjoying London Scarlet, but Sherlock what are you doing here." The last parts of his sentence seem to hiss out of his mouth like a teapot whistle.

"Scarlet invited me."

"And you actually came?" John asked.

"Obviously." Sherlock said looking around bored out of his mind.

"So you come when she ask but you don't come when I-"

"You two come here often I suppose?" Sherlock said cutting John short his gaze falling to the kitchen window as if trying to will his tea and treats to come out faster.

It was my turn to the question the great and powerful Sherlock,"Yeah but how did you know?"

Sherlock pulled something out of his pockets that was rectangle with an Olive Tree by Van Gogh case...

I shut my eyes realizing my mistake; I had just left my iphone with the most brilliant and notorious person on the planet. Way to go me!

"Please tell me you didn't read any of my messages."

"Mm. No promises."

With a groan I rubbed my face with my hands, a headache coming to my temples. I hated it when people messed with my personal stuff and it's not as if I could yell at Sherlock**, **he would only enjoy it too much, so I just held out my hand without so much as a word to have it placed in my palm, flip the phone around and typed in my password.

"I thought your password would be more creative then just 0000." Sherlock's baritone sounding voice hummed almost in disapproval, never mind _almost_Sherlock _was _disappointed in everything he outsmarts.

"Got you then hm?" I replied just as smartly, Sherlock was quiet after that more than likely just thinking of ways to pay me back later for the comment.

I took such measures as to check all of my pictures, apps, and contacts for safety. Normally I would never one dare touch my phone but because Sherlock was Sherlock and I left it within his range of sight I was only mad at myself for the mistake. Though I still fumed a bit as I evaluated my phone while the two boys ate, drank tea, and idly bickered every now and then only to have me bark at them like an annoyed mother for it.

Johns watch beeped, "Oh, looks like my lunch break is over! Same time tomorrow Scarlet?"

I looked up from my phone with an exasperated smile, "Sure!"

The words seem to put a smile on his face as he paid his portion of the bill and left. Sherlock just bored stared out the window while I was still checking my phone when I stumbled upon something rather peculiar; under my contacts was the name Sherly. Funny I didn't remember getting Sherlock's number but it did seem like something I would put him under as, so maybe I did and forgot. Heaven knows I don't pay attention to my phone, hence why it got left with the nosy Norman that sat across the table from me.

"Sherlock?" I asked.

A simple grunt was my answer.

"Did I always have your number in my phone?"

Sherlock didn't even make eye contact with me to respond as he closely watched a couple walk down the street, "Since you asked, for it a few weeks ago."

"Really, I don't remember that?"

"Well the human visual memory is only 62 percent accurate."

That's Sherlock bringing a fact into a simple conversation, interesting how he knows that but not that the earth revolves around the sun...still though I swear I didn't have Sherlock's number before…


End file.
